Capt Nemo grows a beard and seeks wisdom. But mostly just gets lost and slaps his forehead a lot

Finding Nemo

Thursday, April 14, 2011

Cock-Blades of Death

Death's slow embrace

The cock wobbled in a pile of feathers and blood. It sank, ever so slowly, as its life seeped from its body. Its head lowered, its wings fell to the floor. It slumped to the ground, and finally, its head lolled to the side. Noone but me was watching, the fight had officially been long over, the men in the arena were chatting on their cellphones, awaiting the next combatants. I watched the bird take its last few breaths as it died. For a few minutes, it simply laid there in its own blood. Finally, disgusted perhaps, his owner came over and picked up the bird. Only then did I see that its belly was torn apart, the guts spilling out as it was picked up and carried off. Cock-fighting was indeed brutal.

Mortal Kombat!

Only a few minutes before, this was a proud bird, with glorious red and green feathers. His owner stroked and soothed the bird, to calm it before the fight. Then, the "fluffer" was brought, this bird's job was to peck the fighter a few times to get him riled up and ready. The fighter's mane of feathers lifted around his head in a threat display, he wanted to rumble. The pre-fight ritual continued... both owners held their birds by their tails as the cocks ran at each other, feathers spread wide in anticipation. This was partly to get the birds juiced, and partly for the fans to see the relative sizes and ferocity of the fighters before making final bets. The owners then tucked the birds back in the arms and unsheathed the blade. The blade is about a 2-inch long razor, attached to the hackle of one foot. It is so heavy and long relative to the light bird that the cock actually limps a bit when walking.

Attaching the blade

At the last minute, the cockpit arena gets loud as the bet-takers wave at the crowd for final wagers, gesturing and yelling. The crowd yells back and signals to lock in their bets. And then, the arena is cleared and the cocks are released. You would think that they would run at each other, but in fact, many times the cocks are so far apart initially that they stroll absently towards each other. Sometimes, comically, one or both will peck the ground for worms. But when they get within a few feet, everything changes. Suddenly the cocks flare their feathers and lean towards each other, and then, in a flash of flapping and pecking, they charge. One may fly over the other, slashing with his feet, while the one on the ground pecks up. Often this may result in the cock on the ground getting his throat slit. But more often both cocks leap and flap, legs locked in a death embrace, slashing at each others belly. In an instant, the crowd yells and its over.

The death stroke happens much too quick for a novice like myself to even see, but the veterans in the crowd know it and the ref will often stop the fight. He picks up the fighters and holds them towards each other. If both chickens are unable to peck, its a draw. They may both be mortally wounded. But usually, one chicken will peck the other. If he can do it twice, he is the winner. The champion is returned to his owner, who is often smiling and pumping his fist in triumph. The losing bird is usually left to die. The owner of the losing bird must give it to the winner as a gift. There is no point in him hurrying to check on it. It will be cooked and served that night anyway in a victory feast. It is left on its own, and death takes it slow time.

I will admit, I did gamble on 3 fights. And I lost them all. Perhaps it was a lesson for me: I should stick to just eating them instead of trying to figure out the winner of chicken mortal combat.